


To Be

by cjwritergal



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjwritergal/pseuds/cjwritergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All he's ever known is war." Squall/Rinoa, after six years of being together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved the quote that Rinoa can (optionally) say if you pick the right intstruments for the concert, so that is what the quotes in itallics are from. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

She smiles, and he does not know what to say.

Its not that her smile strikes him somewhere in his core (well, not just that) but its that he doesn't know how to respond to her. Rather than a blank mind, his thoughts are full of questions and hesitations.

He doesn't really know how to be with people.

That's the crux of it, really. It's people who have always known how to be with  _him_. It's the others that knew how to get close, how to laugh and tease and talk, how to crowd around and smother him, protect him.

" _We all love you."_

Squall fumbles. Rolls his eyes and glares. Shrugs, and pretends to not care. None of these actions had stopped them- her.

Rinoa is neither impossibly beautiful, or perfect. Her left ear is smaller than her right, she's too loud and does not understand the concept of personal space. She's giggly and sensitive, stubborn, and relentless.

And strong. And brave. Kind, loyal, creative, powerful; more powerful than him. Her nose wrinkled when she laughed. She knew how to cry. And yes, she was beautiful.

These things, even the so-called 'negative' aspects, were facts. Things he could observe and know. Flowery compliments and praises did not come to him, things like what Irvine would say.

Six years. Six years had passed, and it was hardly any easier.

She knew how he felt, of course. Even before he had told her (stammering, quiet, unable to even look at her face) when he would smile, or lean close to her, she would tilt her head and look at him- and  _know_.

That scared him, for reasons he knew were ridiculous.

"… _please don't freak out."_

That they could all understand so perfectly- that she could know- it was frightening. He couldn't do that like the others could.

She'd said it first, ages ago, after he'd been made commander, and then again a few months later.

After, he had known that she reached for his hand, that she curled next to him on a couch, that she giggled at his frown because  _she loved him_. Like some kind of manual, once it was stated as fact, he knew it to be true.

She loved him. And he loved her.

In many ways this brought more questions, more hesitations, but it also brought a sense of quiet. Not in a literal sense, for Rinoa always had something to say. She had an opinion on everything; from if sprinkles destroyed the natural flavor of ice cream to the election of a mayor. However, being with her…he smiled. He'd thought that smiling was foreign (forgotten?) but suddenly he was doing it. Now he could be angry too. So easily, sometimes, another emotion thought left behind. Now he is sometimes filled with such fury his hands shake and its for stupid reasons- his friends are too loud, Seifer was mentioned, he doesn't know what to say or how to act, and he hates it, hates these things with a intensity and scares him because if he feels to much and relaxes, everything that matters could slip away.

All he's ever known is war.

" _We just wanna live, you know?"_

Chaos, confidence. Endless battles and shameful fear. Looming, threatening to chokie him, because he could die or he could fail- and he doesn't want to die- or worse. They could die, they could fall, be in the past tense, spoken of as a memory, be empty bodies with staring eyes or bodies destroyed beyond recognition.

Yes. He had known fear, known the pulse pounding race to survive, to win, to prove himself. To prove he didn't need anyone, but wanting everyone to know he could do it. Stupid, childish, wishes brought from rivalry and terror.

The war had changed, now. Once he had been able to pretend. Smother his fear, forget the pain, the loneliness. But they had smiled, argued, fought for and beside him. Called him on his shit but sat next him anyway. Loved him. And there was no more simplicity, no more lagging behind, no more forgetting. They-  _she_ \- had made sure of that.

But it was so  _damned_  difficult.

He'd almost lost them once, in a time between times, in battle, in space. So close, so many times, to loosing it all again.

War was easy. All he'd had to do was pretend he didn't care, and rely on his own abilities, follow orders, and sink away from the chaos.

Peace meant coming close. Laughing. Hoping. Standing together. Thinking of the future.

"… _with you. Together."_

Rinoa shifted beside him, mumbling something about hot dogs eating Zell, and he could not hold it in, didn't want to hold in the chuckles that escaped. But instinct almost made him try.

Her eyebrows were pulled together, hair tangled, a red mark on her cheek from sleeping on her hand, and she was warm.

He slid a little closer, letting himself thaw out. He still didn't understand the little things implied but unsaid. It frustrated him he was so easily read, that he could not read in return, but-

In the dresser, had had hidden a little box. With the little box would come a question, but many more had come before it.

If he didn't know how to read them, how to act or what to say, what did he know?

How to fight. Protect. How to set up an alarm system.

How Angelo liked to have his belly rubbed.

That their photo albums were filled to the brim.

That he loved Rinoa.

That he wanted to smile.

That he had friends.

That he made her happy. That he wanted her to be happy.

He brushed her hair back softly, not wanting to wake her, and settled back against the bed, feeling the steady rhythm of his own heart.

He knew the words would not come naturally, that he would fumble, be afraid. Somehow, still, the words would come.

She would know. Slowly, as it had been for six years, the understanding would also come to him.

It wasn't a resolution, or a new start. It was a continuation of what would be. What they would be.

"… _together."_

Her heart beat beside his own, and his eyes closed as her breath drifted across his face, and he slept soundly.

 


End file.
